“But you know, Bugi, these pampered people have hard times, too”
Chezky, the kitchen manager, spread out the calendar for the coming month. “Here we have a bar mitzvah,” he said, pointing to a square on the grid. “The seudah for men is in the main hall. For the women, in the small hall downstairs. I’ll let you know what each of you will be doing next week. On Shabbos, there’ll be a big kiddush after davening. For men, in the yeshivah hall, for women in the ezras nashim. We’ll want you here for a few extra hours, all of you, so please clear your schedule for that.”
The kitchen workers nodded, and Bugi wrote down the dates. Extra hours meant more money and more to keep him busy. That was good.
“Who’s making a bar mitzvah?” he asked Yanky later.
“Feivele, the Rebbe’s son,” said Yanky.
“That young man who sits next to the Rebbe at every tish?” Since he’d started working in the mosdos, Bugi had developed an interest in the hierarchy of the chassidus.
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